Black Stains
by Narsin
Summary: For a competition on another site, comments are appreciated greatly!
1. Introduction

She gave me a wry grin, balancing one of the purple spheres on one long finger. I stood, kneeling, before her. Amusement sparked in her eyes. I was strange in that way, I could see inside people. Her eyes? You can't make anything out, save the glowing purple. Her headpiece, magnificent as it was, held a shimmering amethyst in its center. I could sense the power held within her. Within such a frail frame. I could almost reach out, and snap her delicate body in two.

The Dark Sovereign regarded me curiously. Two of her dark spheres circled her, occasionally swaying toward me. Her legs were crossed, skirt tails trailing along the floor. The ground gently shifted, swaying occasionally as Syndra became distracted. My head was down, right hand splayed before me, left curled up to my chest. My heart pounded beneath the protruding ribs. The heavy trench coat cushioned most of them, but there was no mistaking the blood splattered around my neck. Syndra's white hair almost floated beside her. Finally, she spoke.

"Ariss..." Her voice echoed throughout the room, the r and s dragging out as she said my name. I looked up, hair falling back toward my shoulders, eye flashing angrily for a few moments. When I spoke, my voice was deep. It sounded like waves crashing amongst each other, in the midst of a storm. The third sphere rose to join the other two.

"Correct, that is my name." It was almost a guessing game. But Syndra new better than to play games with me. She knew better than to even try to kill me. My face stayed passive, unmoving, as she smiled down at me from her throne.

She chuckled softly. "What do you wish for me to do?" Her voice was gentle, almost caring. Almost.

I rose from the ground, heavy boots clunking softly. A tattered scrap of cloth was tied around my head, in some fruitless attempt to hide what was beneath. More of, what _wasn't_ beneath. The black coat was heavy on my shoulders, but then, I'd lost feeling in them years ago. It didn't bother me any more. It was draped on them, the old leather cracked and worn. My lank hair falling in tendrils to my shoulders. It used to be a lighter brown. Now it was just black, streaks of white running through it. I seem to follow the same colour palette. Whites, blacks, and all of the colours between. I was merely grey. Syndra, though. She was a deep purple, the colour mostly associated with mystery. What she wore wasn't particularly... revealing, but it would send many a young man around in circles. I was unfazed, simply watching her coldly. "Now, what would I want from you? A young... child, with such undeserved power..." Her smile faded, to be replaced with one of the famous death-stares all women seemed to posses. I'd never understand that. How come they all got the cool stares? I shook my head sadly, the first smile in a hundred years spreading over my face. "All I ask, is for an answer. If you find out what it is? Maybe I won't give you so much pain. Maybe I'll even spare you the pain..." I cracked my knuckles, the old bones making terrible clicking noises as the bones clattered together. Syndra raised an eyebrow sceptically, gazing at me critically, her pretty face crossing the border of being annoyed and furious. I bet she wasn't used to being threatened.

"And what, per se, could you do, to me?" She said, her voice calm, echoing all the more. I wonder whether the echoing comes as a defense method. Maybe she thinks it scares people. It doesn't scare me, that's for sure. I've lost those feelings. I lost them long, long ago.

I smile again. "The question is, what could you do to me?" I open my coat, revealing the broken ribs inside, the dried blood around the wound. It's old, but has never healed. It almost goes right through me. Some of my ribs are bent, some are in place. My heart is protected, but the area around my right lung is left vulnerable. Is it me, or did I hear a small gasp of surprise from my observer. I offer her another grin. Even after all of these years, the surprise that people have is gratifying. It's also funny, in a weird way. Many people are scared of what I am. The problem is, they just disregard me. I look normal, with my coat and general appearance. Not like some of those other... guys, such as Karthus. I mean, sure, some of us look slightly odder, but that's to be expected. But to go that far? To almost take off your own skin, when it stays, unhealing, as it was when you died. Anyone could see how I died, if I undo the clasps to my trench coat. You can see, the way my chest is ripped open, my ribs bent both ways- inwards and outwards. You can tell by the dark stains dried onto my coat, the deep shades of my blood. It's quite fascinating, really.

Syndra just glares at my coldly, making up her mind about something, before looking back up at me, scowling. "What exactly do you want?" She snarled. She knew she couldn't keep me out. I find ways of getting into places, it's one of my many talents. Doesn't matter how high the walls are, how high you are off the ground, how many guns are fired it doesn't matter. Even sentries can't see me half the time. She knew all of this.

Sometimes, people ask me why I don't walk up to the League of Legends and ask them to take me in. I don't belong, you see. I've wandered for centuries searching from somewhere to fit in. After I died, of course. I couldn't return to my wife, she'd just... freak out, I suppose. My town would chase me away, anyway. They don't stand for the undead. I know I should never have gone there. I shouldn't have gone off, on my own, to kill the beast. In fact, quite the opposite had happened. It had killed me, tearing my own insides away from me. Before I had stood up, and stabbed it with the sword handily laying beside my dead body. It was a strange sensation, running around with a still beating heart, but without half of your digestive system. I don't breathe, though. It would be nice to, but it simply isn't possible with lungs in the state mine are. Tattered strands of flesh dangle from the ruined skin.

But where I belong? The undead belong no where. The basic fact of life. Or more of, unlife. You don't fit anywhere.

As a reply to her question, I looked up once more. "I want answers. Why did I come back, why then? Why did I not just die, like most people do when fighting a monster?" My voice was gruff, growling and dry. Syndra's face softened for a moment, before returning to her scowl. It just made her look prettier- probably not the reaction she quite wanted.

"Surely you would know that me, the Dark Sovereign, would not know quite what you want? Surely Thresh is more suiting to your needs? He does collect human souls, after all..." She trailed off, not really needing to continue.

The truth was, I couldn't find Thresh, and was not particularly in the mood of finding him. Being dead, meant that my soul was less protected than others. For whatever reason, it hadn't left my broken body when it died. Instead, my still living soul hung around, giving my brain a reason to continue. Along with all of the other organs that could function. This secluded my digestive system, and generally most other organs. My soul was bare, easy for the chain warden to collect. Funnily enough, I didn't want that to happen. It was what kept me in my undeath, still able to roam the world. Why exactly, I'm not sure, but part of me doesn't want to leave. I feel as if I have something else that I need to do, before I can move on.

Of course, I couldn't admit to Syndra, one who looks down on all those who sense fear, that I was scared of what Thresh would do. Instead, I told the indirect truth. Not entirely lying, not entirely telling the truth. "I thought that one like you, may know more. After all, you do pride yourself saying you know more than the average living being. I suppose Thresh counts as one of these?"

Syndra grinned at me, her eyes twinkling knowingly. "Why, little Ariss, you do not need to be afraid of him... he makes the most excellent lane partner, and has saved my life countless times. And with him, his story is similar to yours. Maybe you two could talk about it over a cup of tea?" I didn't satisfy her with a scowl, or even a change in face. I merely watched calmly, examining her closely. This girl needed more clothes, I decided, before looking into those purple eyes with mild hatred.

"But I asked you. Not him. You should know that I don't like to break my promises. After all, I came back, did I not? I them I would, and I did. With the monster lying dead at my feet, I returned to them, to show them what I had done." I pause, more for a thought than anything else, "It's other people that I do not trust to keep their word. They did not welcome me, they did not thank me. Oh, no, they just... tried to burn me." I show her the blackened skin on my forearm. That train of thought hadn't worked very well. Strangely, wet flesh doesn't burn easily, and my skin had been drenched in my own blood, rendering it sticky and soaked.


	2. Ariss

My name is Ariss. Lanky, black hair, blunt features, one eye. With most of my height in my legs, I stand at 6'8, pretty tall for a human. Or more of, ex-human. I'm not like Thresh- that guy is just creepy. I am dead, though, which tends to put people off. Generally, they're fine until I mention that one small fact, or open my coat. My coat. My wonderful Trench Coat that conceals all. My identity, my wounds, and my undeath. Some would call me a zombie. While I won't deny that, there are slightly better words to call me. For example, you could call me and my race Walkers, The Dead, Cauldron-Born, Abominations, Rotters, Biters, Lurkers, Corpses, Skin Puppets, Flesh Dolls, Soulless Husks, Horrors, Ghouls, Ghasts, Brain Biters (Why they think we all eat brains I'll never know), Infected, Hollows, Rot-Walkers, Wraith, Revenants, Goons, Flesh-Eaters, Night-Walkers, Hungerers, Shuffling Horrors and Restless Dead. I would prefer it if you simply called us the Undead. And our situation? Undeath. Nothing to complicated, though it does tend to give people so much trouble. Just to say one single name.

I died, as you might have guessed. I died many centuries ago, slaying the monster that had tormented my village for years. It had seemed like ages at the time, but now I've lived this long? That amount of time passes in a heartbeat. Which my heart does. Whilst my chest is torn open for the whole world to see, my heart generally doesn't stop beating. I can't breath, I can't eat or drink, but my heart beats.

People call me strange things. Almost nicknames. Like Wanderer and Stalker. I don't actually stalk the living. That would just be weird. And creepy.

Anyway. I'm looking for answers. Reasons to why I am still here, on this world. Why was I saved? Why then? Who saved me? Surely if I died, I was meant to? The undead don't work the same around here. You don't just come back for no reason. There has to be some sort of magic involved, something that makes the soul want to stay. I had nothing to loose, I had nothing to live for. My wife, if suspected, was cheating on me. She had actually wanted me to go, to die, and maybe slay the monster on the way. She was not expecting what happened.

He sheathed his sword, sliding it into the scabbard with a horrid scraping noise. She looked up at him, eyes hard. A false smile worked its way onto her face. He didn't appear to notice. She hated the prearranged marriage they had. She hadn't seen his face until she stood under the arch, speaking her vows. Valoran was getting closer to being a non-sexist continent, but it still had a long way to go. A very long way. She scowled at him as he turned his back to her, shrugging on his own, heavy coat.

"When do you think you'll be back, Ariss?" She said, quietly to disguise the annoyance in her voice. Maybe she could live her life free, to see who she wished, if he died. A raw hope sprung up inside her, as she thought of how she could fake mourning. The people of the village would expect her to mourn. They'd cart in his body, and she'd run over, crying her eyes out. Yes... that would work well. She could easily fake her sadness. If he didn't die... surely she could wait for him, and get the job done herself? Otherwise, she'd just have to put up with the man. She didn't really mind him. He was an OK guy, as they go. It was just the matter of the other one. Handsome, tall and dark. The man every girl in the village wanted. But he wanted her.

No hard feelings to Ariss, but he didn't tick all of the boxes. Tall? Defiantly. He was taller than his rival. Dark? Yes. But Ariss was slightly too dark for Gayana's liking. Handsome? His face was OK. It wasn't that bad, but it wasn't that good, either. He had a pretty average face. And then there was his... hobby, as he called it.

Monster hunting. Gayana didn't like the feelings she got every time Ariss stepped out of the door on yet another one of his quests. She was developing feelings for him. A deep sense of worry for a man she did not feel she loved. She didn't like that. And now, here he was, preparing to hunt the biggest one yet. An ice drake from the north. It had terrorised the village for years. Why he hadn't gone after it before, she supposed she'd never find out. All she knew was that he was most certainly walking to his death.

He turned to her, emotion flickering behind his eyes, moving on too quickly for Gayana to identify. She had become awfully good at piecing together his emotions. He studied her carefully, before answering. "Shouldn't take more than a week to track. after that, not too long. If I'm not back in a fortnight... prepare for the worst..." He turned to the door, pulling it open, stepping through, and slamming it behind him, all before she could say her final goodbyes.

Not that she cared.

Ariss trudged through moor and woodland, swamp and plains. Tracks of various creatures distracted him, and he found at least two dozen rabbit burrows rather than what he was actually hunting. At night, the stars formed his roof, the sides formed by weak magical shields, enough to warn him when someone, or something, walked into them. By that time, he could hopefully defend himself.

Ariss hadn't really bothered learning much magic. To him, it was just some sort of flimsy way of looking cool. Magic, in his opinion, was practically useless. It had its uses, though.

It was whilst lying, awake, that he discovered the drake.

The night was cold, biting into Ariss's living flesh, chilling him to the bone. A shiver ran down his body, and he rubbed his arms in a futile attempt to warm them. He had draped his coat over his chest, but it didn't go as far as his arms, and left draughty gaps when he had attempted to squeeze them beside his body. He looked up into the dark sky, at the crescent moon that was shining down on him. That was another reason he couldn't sleep. He was one of those people that needed pitch black when they slept. The moon was, in no way, a dark thing. It shone out as a beacon to all travellers, why, he didn't know. Ariss supposed only travellers would.

A dark shadow passed over the silvery glow, a trail of mist following in its wake. He could just make out the bright white that escaped the creature's mouth. It was ice, glowing a beautiful blue. Ariss clenched his hands. The Ice Drake was making its way to the village, preparing to take its daily course of people. He could not allow that. Not when he had specifically gone to slay this beast, to stop it from bothering his fellow villagers. He stood, swiftly and gracefully, and broke into a slow jog, He cursed his frozen limbs as he slowly picked up speed. In a few minutes, he was running at full pelt, following that strange trail of mist.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to charge straight towards the beast. It was too late now, he couldn't stop. He had already charged, sword out, ready to drive it into the creature's chest. It picked him up with its tail, which slammed into his chest, taking the air out of him. He was lifted upwards, before being thrown back to the ground by gravity. There he was, thinking it was his friend.

The drake looked down at him with glowing yellow eyes, tilting its head curiously to one side. Ariss's sword lay beside him, and he prepared to make a lunge for it. He couldn't go for it whilst the creature was looking at him, though. He had made a mental note not to move in front of it. His moves were too predicable when he did. The creature, seemingly making up its mind, let out a heart-rending roar. It sounded like the lonely cry of an animal that had known great loss. Ariss knew better than to pity it. It had taken many a life. He moved to the side, sneaking his hand towards the long spine of metal. His land reached the hilt, and he swung it upwards.

The beast wrinkled its nose at him, this time tightening its claws around his waist. One of them, presumably its index claw, dug into the soft flesh where his stomach was. He let out a gasp as it drew blood, and watched the dark red fluid dribble out. It looked at him carefully. Ariss knew it had been a mistake to come alone. And now no one would know where he lay as he died. Everyone would still be troubled by the creature.

It dug its muzzle into his chest now, gaining hold on his ribs with its teeth, sliding them underneath, crunching at them, pulling at them. He could feel the cold running through his body for the last time. Whether that was death, or the dragon he didn't think he'd ever know. With one last shudder, he gave up, and the creature let out a croon of triumph. Right before it found itself with a sword lodged in its skull.


End file.
